


We Ran As If To Meet The Moon

by blithelybonny



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha rut, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blow Jobs, Bonded Pairs, Bonding, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Cock Warming, Dom/sub, Friendship, Knotting, Masturbation, Mates, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Omega Bucky Barnes, Oral Knotting, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pack Dynamics, Pack Family, Pack Feels, Praise Kink, Puppy Piles, Scent Marking, Self Care, Sharing a Bed, Subspace, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Werewolf Mates, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-09-03 14:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 18,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8716825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blithelybonny/pseuds/blithelybonny
Summary: ON HIATUS - WILL BE COMPLETED -- How do you mend a broken pack? The same way you mend a broken heart -- not with grand gestures, but with the little things. A series of moments following Alpha Werewolf Steve Rogers and his pack as they find their way back together again.





	1. Give Me A Quiet Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eidheann](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eidheann/gifts).



> With all the love in the world to **eidheann** , who makes me a better writer, a better friend, and a better person. You are amazing.
> 
> This fic will be updated daily until Christmas Day. (Unless I fall behind a bit, which I hope I don't, then it will be updated until I hit 25 parts.) Additional tags will also be added with each part, so mind them if you're planning to follow along. :D As this is a series of moments, it will be loosely in order, but I suspect you won't have to read every part to follow the plot.
> 
> Title is a quote from a Robert Frost poem.

The act of remembering comes easily to Bucky these days, even though the memories themselves often lack focus. An image here, a fragment there--the serum that he despises and appreciates in equal measure knits his fractured mind back together one small piece at a time.

So much of his history is ugly and painful; so much of his unnaturally long life was spent causing pain that he feels guilty that what he remembers most clearly is the beauty of his Alpha in the moonlight.

It’s such a cliché, and a false one at that. The moon has no real power over the wolf in Bucky’s heart. He doesn’t feel the itch to shift more acutely when the moon’s so full and bright that it could practically still be day. He doesn’t need to run or to howl when the moon settles low over the earth any more than a non-were does.

And yet, when he closes his eyes and lets the memories flow, the strongest images are always of Steve silhouetted against a huge full moon. Like the old propaganda posters, maybe. Captain America, greatest and best of wolves and of men, supersoldier and champion, light in the darkness. _Hero_.

(But Bucky also remembers when Steve was small--and god, how he glowed by the light of the moon even then.)

“You’re doin’ real good, Buck,” Steve murmurs. His large hand rests atop Bucky’s head, fingers laced casually in the thick brown strands--not pulling, but anchoring. The other hand is up on the desk holding a thick stack of papers that Steve has been reading for the last hour.

Bucky would answer, but he’s not required to speak when he’s like this, except to signal if they’ve gone too far. Still, the praise feels good. It zings through his body and settles in his chest, further loosening the knot of anxiety that had brought him to his knees in the first place. It feels so good, and Bucky wants to communicate that to Steve.

On his next exhale, Bucky swallows gently, managing to take Steve’s cock just a little deeper into his mouth. He doesn’t suck--that isn’t what they’re doing right now; it isn’t what Steve wanted or what Bucky needed. Bucky just needed to keep Steve warm, and Steve let him. Because Steve is the best kind of Alpha. Steve is the kind of Alpha who understands and respects his omega’s needs.

Steve’s thighs tense briefly and relax under Bucky’s hands. Steve looks down under the desk, just a tilt of his head, a redirection of his attention for only a moment, and his eyes flash with warmth and fondness. “Thanks, Buck,” he whispers, crooking his fingers to gently scrape his short, blunt nails against Bucky’s scalp once and again, before he returns to his reading.

“If you ask me,” says Sam, from his perch on the side of the desk, “the section on accountability during a global terror event is still too ambiguous.”

“Yeah, that section, and over half the proposed addenda too,” Steve replies. He sighs and lifts the hand on Bucky’s head to scratch through his own hair. “Damn it, Sam, I’m just so tired of the same thing over and over again.”

Bucky hates to hear the frustration in Steve’s tone and wishes there was more he could do to alleviate it. He can feel the tension radiating from Sam as well and knows that Sam wants to do more too.

“I know, man,” Sam says quietly. “I know. Kinda feels like we’re never all gonna agree.”

Steve’s hand returns to Bucky’s head, and Bucky closes his eyes again. There’s not much he can do right now, except continue to warm Steve’s cock. It’s a simple thing, and it will have to be enough for now.

He concentrates on keeping his breathing soft and even, concentrates on the feel of Steve’s muscles beneath his hands, concentrates on the way the buzzing in his head keeps growing fainter and fainter until it stops, and he just floats.


	2. To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

Steve can see it in the stubborn set of Sam’s jaw and the stiff line of his shoulders, and even if Sam was better at masking his body language, the scent of his distress stings Steve’s sensitive nose. “Don’t give me that look,” he says, tone firm, but gentle.

Sam exhales sharply and folds his arms across his chest. “I’m not giving you any kinda look, Cap.”

“You are too,” Steve replies. “Now would you just go get in the bed already and let me take care of you?”

“You definitely do not have to take care of me,” Sam growls.

Steve’s hackles rise, but he inhales Sam’s scent again, the fear beneath the anger, and it stokes his protective instincts higher. “You know,” Steve says, as evenly as he can, “for a guy who’s always on my case about being too damn stubborn for his own good…”

Sam’s mouth twitches, like he wants to smile but can’t admit defeat yet. “You are too damn stubborn for your own good,” he replies. “And you got no need to be all on my case about this.”

“Buck, Clint, and Wanda are all there too, if that helps.”

Sam doesn’t have an answer for that, and Steve smiles at him, taking it as his cue that Sam’s ready for him to at least come into the room. (As much as every room in this house belongs to him as their leader and Alpha, Steve’s never been the traditional sort--it would be an affront to his sense of justice not to let his betas and omegas have their own private space.) He walks over and takes a seat on the edge of Sam’s bed. The slightly burnt, acrid scent of anguish that clings to Sam intensifies, and Steve can’t hold back a whine of sympathy.

“That bad, huh?” Sam then says, quieter now. He wraps his arms around his knees, hugging them tight to his chest.

“Yes, Sam,” comes Wanda’s voice from the doorway. “We smell your sadness from other room. Please will you come sleep with us?”

Steve turns around and gives her a smile that she doesn’t quite reciprocate. She then leaves them as silently as she’d come.

Sam says nothing again for a long moment before he sighs and shakes his head. “It was just a shitty dream, that’s all,” he confesses. “It’s really nothing.”

“It’s not nothing if it’s got you this worked up,” Steve points out. “Also, at this point, I think you have to know that I’m not leaving this room without you, so...either you come with me, or you’re going to have to make some room for me here, and I think we both know that my bed fits multiple people way more comfortably than yours does.”

Sam lets out a little chuckle at that and then repeats, “Too damn stubborn.”

“You know it.” Steve reaches for Sam then, gripping him at the join of Sam’s neck and shoulder, and pulls their faces together. He rests his forehead on Sam’s own and just breathes. Sam’s scent is already settling back into normal--muted violets and smoky leather--and a night spent immersed in the scents of the others really will do him some good.

It’s the hardest thing of all for Steve, seeing his team struggle and not being able to fix it yet. They’re hurting, all of them, even and possibly especially those that are so far away from their brothers and sisters. A broken pack, however unconventional that pack is to start with, hurts so much worse than Steve ever could have imagined--and he’s a man who knows pain.

After a long moment of resting here with Sam, Steve pulls back and looks him in the eyes again. “Are you coming?” he whispers.

Sam nods and offers a half-smile. Then, together, they leave Sam’s bedroom and walk down the hall to Steve’s.

The bed looks full already; Clint is pressed up against the headboard, laying like a pillow, and already dead to the world, and Wanda is curled up like a fetus with her face against his neck. Bucky’s seated on the edge of the bed, hands on his knees and waiting, but not anxious. He’s just ready for Steve to return. It makes Steve ache for him. They’ve made so much progress in the last couple months since Bucky left the Wakandan cryo facility, but there’s still quite a ways to go. He’s still acclimating to being part of a pack again, albeit a fractured one.

“Bad dream?” Bucky asks, tipping his head to the side and glancing up at Sam.

“Yeah, man,” Sam replies simply.

Bucky nods and then pats the bed. “I hate bad dreams,” he says.

“Me too.” Sam then climbs up on the bed and scoots up so that he can lay his head down near Clint’s stomach. He curls onto his side and tucks a hand up under Clint and reaches the other out for Wanda, who takes it and gently tangles their fingers together all without opening her eyes.

Bucky gives Steve a look he can’t quite read before he lays back down with his back pressed up against Sam’s. Steve has to smile at that--those two have also come a hell of a long way since their first meeting.

Waiting only a moment more to watch them cozing up together, Steve climbs into bed and shuffles up to Bucky who settles his head on Steve’s bare chest. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, smiling a little as their heartbeats start to fall in the same rhythm. “Maybe we can go for a run in the morning...a real one,” Steve then quietly offers up to the darkness.

“I’d like that,” Bucky replies sleepily, as he tucks himself a little more closely against Steve’s side.

Sam groans, but Steve can hear the playfulness in it. It’s been at least a week since they’d all shifted and run together as a pack--it’ll do them a world of good, just like tonight will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title's a Shakespeare quote.


	3. Hold Me Closer

Bucky remembers a night like this one from seventy-five years ago: Steve, handsy and needy with encroaching rut, and himself, bone-tired from a long day of working at the docks, but unable to deny Steve anything and everything he wanted. Not because of their bond, but because he loved Steve and wanted the world for him. 

He would have torn the moon from the sky to give to Steve--as if that would ever be enough to show his love.

“Heya, Buck, where’d you go?” Steve asks.

Bucky blinks and then frowns. “Do you miss it?” he asks, rather than answer the question.

“Miss what?”

“Us,” Bucky replies. He slides his flesh hand across the small space between them on the bed and presses it against Steve’s chest, adding, “This.”

Steve doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but his eyes get so bright with emotion that Bucky almost wishes he hadn’t said anything. Then, finally, Steve reaches between them and gets a hand on Bucky’s chest. “Yeah, Buck, I do. Of course I do. So much,” he says, voice rough.

Bucky’s not sure yet whether it was the Soviets or Hydra who managed to break his bond with Steve. His memories remain elusive there: did the Red Room plant false memories and triggers that manipulated his feelings for Steve until the bond was unrecognizable, or did Hydra shock it out of him with electricity and pain? The pitifully slim debriefing file Steve managed to get his hands on offers no conclusive evidence, and his own notebooks filled with scattered memories and hazy half-truths can only be trusted so far.

But their bond is broken--Bucky knows that with absolute certainty because he remembers what it felt like when he was whole.

“You should just--” Bucky cuts himself off. He’s not ready to hear ‘no’ again.

Steve seems to hear the request anyway because his eyes go soft and pained in the way that tears Bucky’s heart out of his chest every single time. “You know I want to, Buck,” he says.

“Then why don’t you?” Bucky asks plaintive. He tears his gaze away from Steve’s, embarrassed by his own need.

Steve sighs, but presses his hand more firmly against Bucky’s chest. Bucky shifts forward, making Steve fold his arm, until his hand is trapped between their bodies and Steve’s lips have to brush against Bucky’s forehead when he speaks again. “Because we’re not ready yet,” he whispers.

What Bucky hears is _you’re_ not ready yet, and the thing is, he knows that that’s true, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Okay,” he replies. “I can wait.”


	4. Sometimes It's The Little Things

It’s really weird seeing Steve in rut. Not that Clint’s never interacted with Steve in rut before, but that was different because that was both when Steve was distracted with giant robots hell-bent on destroying the world and when Steve didn’t have his omega there to go all gooey-eyed around. Clint’s not sure if it’s an Alpha thing or just a Steve thing, though.

Truthfully, Alphas don’t seem to fit the stereotypes that Clint grew up learning about. With the exception of the physical stuff, which is just biology and whatnot, no two Alphas Clint’s encountered have been quite the same. Some are aggressive and some are merely protective. Some are big and some are small. Some are possessive and some are easy-going. And some are Steven Grant Rogers.

Because Steve in rut? Is kind of a force to be reckoned with. His scent, already formidable when he’s not wearing blockers, could knock a guy over if he wasn’t paying attention. Clint, well, he kinda wants to get on his knees for Steve, which is not like a normal thing between them, but he’s not immune to the heavy scent of sandalwood, apple and jasmine that he can usually only detect traces.

And yeah, Steve is totally handsy when he’s in rut, but in a respectful sort of way. Like he needs to assert his presence so that they all know he’s there for them, protecting them and loving them, but never without their express permission. This morning, Clint was making more scrambled eggs after he’d accidentally dropped the entire first set, and Steve had appeared behind him, almost making him drop the second set.

“Hiya Clint,” he’d said, voice all rough. “You, um, you need a hand with anything?”

Clint was a good guy and he knew what Steve really wanted, so he just turned around and opened his arms wide. Steve fell into them gratefully, pressing his nose against the scent-glands in Clint’s neck and then pulling back to rub his wrists over the spot, marking Clint all over again.

The eggs ended up a bit burnt, but, well, nobody seemed to mind. Because they all wanted to take care of Steve just as much as Steve wanted to take care of them. It’s a real reciprocal kind of thing with their pack and, for a guy who’s spent a good chunk of his life running from being tied down to a pack, Clint really kinda loves that this is where he’s found himself.

It’d be better, of course, if their other half was here...but he doesn’t want to think about that now. Not when Steve’s struggling.

Because Steve, whether he’s aware of it or not, has been tracking Bucky all day long. Sam’s noticed. Clint’s obviously noticed. Everybody’s noticed, and Bucky certainly has noticed.

Clint’s not exactly what you’d call a traditionalist when it comes to Alphas and omegas, but he’s pretty sure that the two of them would feel a lot better if they just got their heads outta their asses and banged already. It’s probably fucked up, but if even a beta like Clint is thinking that a knot would feel pretty nice right about now, it’s not a stretch to think that Steve getting a knot in Bucky would alleviate the thick layer of tension in the house. 

But Clint’s also pretty sure that Bucky’s having one of his shit days, which is probably why Steve’s only been following Bucky with his eyes instead of dragging him off to the nearest bedroom to do what comes naturally.

Bucky’s standing at the counter watching the Britta filter fill up with water with single-minded focus, and yeah, Clint definitely gets the inclination. To quiet your head, sometimes you gotta do something mindless. He’s been there, and he knows it helps.

Steve’s hovering in the kitchen doorway, radiating need and heat and scent, but not wanting to impose--not when Bucky’s like this.

Now Clint’s seen them do things that he knows Alphas and omegas do together--they’re in such close quarters that privacy is laughable, and honestly, he’s pretty sure none of them even want to be apart from each other as much as possible. Like he’s seen Bucky on his knees with Steve’s dick in his mouth while Steve just casually goes on about his business. He’s seen Bucky crawl on his knees behind Steve and let Steve feed him from his hand while the rest of them sit at the table. He’s seen a lot of things. He’s never actually seen them kiss though, and it kinda hurts. And if it hurts Clint, he knows it hurts the two of them.

But he also knows they’re waiting, and he kinda knows why too.

“Steve,” Bucky suddenly says, breaking the heavy silence.

“Yeah Buck?” Steve instantly replies, springing through the doorway, but pausing just inside. His hands curl into fists, like it’s taking every ounce of self-control (which it likely is) not to reach out and drag Bucky into his arms.

Bucky turns around. His expression is unreadable. But then he says, “Could you touch me?”

Steve’s face does a really complicated thing, and he seems to crumple a little. “Y-yeah, Buck, I could. If you want,” he says, and his hands make little grabby motions at his side probably unconsciously. “How?”

Bucky waits again, a muscle in his cheek working as he clenches his jaw. Then, after a long, long moment, he tilts his chin, just enough, just a bare hint of submission.

Steve’s growl echoes in the tiny kitchen as he launches himself across the room. He cups a hand at Bucky’s jaw and tugs him forward just enough to press their foreheads together. Bucky whines, and Steve growls again, low but not aggressive. Just a ‘hey, don’t worry, I’m here’.

It warms Clint up inside too. He smiles as he watches them. He’s not even sure how much time passes, but he doesn’t care. Because this is nice. This is exactly what they need right now.


	5. We Don't Have to Speak

Sometimes Bucky just likes to shift and disappear into the woods. It can be hard because he’s not even anonymous as a wolf anymore, but the location that Steve has them all hiding out in is remote enough that Bucky can afford to stretch his legs a bit in the surrounding forest.

Everything is simpler as a wolf. Everything seems so much easier to process. His senses might be heightened, and he might be bombarded with more sensation around him, but his focus is clearer. He has only to concentrate on the feel of the wind through his coat, the traces of scent in his snout, or the dirt and leaves crunching softly under his paws, as he answers the pull of the night and the thrill of the run.

He doesn’t really have to think--only feel.

Bucky stands at the edge of the property, just inside the ring of Maximoff’s magic that cloaks the location from spying S.H.I.E.LD. or Avengers eyes. His hands are tightened into fists at his sides, and he breathes deeply, evenly, calming himself down enough to shift. He closes his eyes, and when the wind picks up, Steve’s scent wafts over, filling Bucky’s nose.

A soft laugh pulls itself from his throat, as he drops his chin to his chest. “Followin’ me again, Rogers?” he asks.

The huge grey and white wolf lopes over to Bucky and sits calmly at his side. Bucky waits only a few moments for Steve to shift into his skin, but when Steve doesn’t, Bucky sighs gently, uncurls his fist and flattens his hand. Steve butts his head up against Bucky’s palm until Bucky obliges him, petting him gently and scratching over his ears.

Sometimes it’s easier to deal with Steve like this too. When Steve’s a wolf and Bucky’s a man, there’s no pressure for Bucky to be anything other than what he is in that moment. He doesn’t have to be the knucklehead Bucky Barnes of their shared youth, nor whatever expectation Steve might have, however much he denies it, of the Bucky Barnes who spent seventy years killing in the service of the force they’d once opposed together--the Bucky Barnes who can’t think straight half the time and who is plagued by nightmares the other half, who might still have triggers in his head no matter how many they dug out--the Bucky Barnes who might once have been a good man, but who is now something too muddled to be certain of.

Steve tenses under Bucky’s hand suddenly, his ears flattening in distress, and Bucky realizes he’s verging on panic again.

“Wait,” he chokes out, before Steve can shift back and try to comfort him. Bucky only wants Steve’s hands on him sometimes. Sometimes it’s too unbearable to consider letting Steve--good, perfect, sweet, kind, noble Steve--sully his hands with the blood all over Bucky’s body. “Please, just gimme a minute, Stevie. Please.”

Steve whines, but obliges him.

Bucky takes a deep breath and exhales slowly against the buzzing in his head. He focuses on the feel of Steve’s fur between his fingers. He calms and then, between one breath and the next, he shifts.

Steve butts his head against Bucky’s once. Bucky tucks his snout under Steve’s chin and huffs. And when Steve pulls back, his icy-blue eyes meeting Bucky’s, Bucky lets out a low whine of his own that Steve answers with a soft growl.

Together, they take off into the forest and don’t return until just before dawn.


	6. Rest Awhile

There’s nothing all that good on; being on the lam like this has managed to really diminish Sam’s appetite for football, it’s too early in the day for basketball, and there’s only so many times he can get through a re-run of the Cubs winning the World Series (because as much as baseball is Steve’s thing and Sam wants to support him, it’s also boring as fuck to watch on TV). Admittedly, he could watch something not sports-related, but it’s Sunday, and Sunday’s always been sports day in the Wilson household.

He surfs through the stations a few more times and is about to give up when Bucky slinks into the room and perches on the arm of the chair. “Barnes,” Sam greets, not taking his eyes off the TV.

“Wilson,” Bucky responds, leaning in just enough that his side brushes up against Sam’s shoulder.

 _So a good day then_ , Sam thinks.

Not being as attuned to Bucky’s scent as Steve is, Sam often has to rely on body language, and Bucky’s not usually the easiest to read. Added to that is Sam’s reluctance to fully trust Bucky. He’s stubborn, sure, but it’s more to do with the fact that, aside from the bullshit Sokovian Accords, Bucky’s the main reason that the pack has been split into factions, and Sam really isn’t cool with that.

Sam’s always been a pack-man. His immediate family first, then his squad (where he met his first real Alpha, Riley), and then Steve Rogers and his ragtag group of misfits who shouldn’t have worked as a pack and yet were somehow more compatible than Sam ever could have imagined. And so even though he’s not an Alpha himself, Sam takes threats to his pack and to his Alpha more seriously than most beta wolves. It stings a bit, being pulled in opposing directions, but it’s the case unfortunately because Bucky is one of Sam’s, but he’s also a threat.

“Steve on a run or something?” Sam asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky replies. He shifts a little more on the chair, pressing a little harder into Sam’s arm.

Steve’s at the tail-end of his rut right now, and Sam’s noticed that he’s spent a lot more of it as a wolf than usual. He wonders how much of that is because of Bucky too. Sam’s a little more sympathetic toward Bucky on that front, though.

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon if you wanna...you know, whatever,” Sam says, even as Bucky presses in a little more.

Bucky shakes his head ‘no.’ “I’m not...and he’s not...you know that,” he says, leaving a whole hell of a lot unsaid.

Sam thinks he gets it though. Steve doesn’t like to talk about this part with him and Sam knows better than to push too hard, but Sam’s seen this kinda thing before with some of the vets he’s worked with over the years, and bond-loss is a really fucked up thing.

“Come on,” Sam then says, putting aside his more complicated feelings about Bucky aside for the moment. He gets up from the chair and transfers himself to the loveseat, then pats the seat next to him. “Don’t make me change my mind, Barnes,” he adds, when Bucky remains awkwardly poised on the arm of the chair.

Sam sees the little smile pull at Bucky’s lips before he hides it again, and it tugs something fierce on Sam’s loyal and protective feelings.

Bucky then gets up, affects an expression that looks like he’s doing Sam a favor, and plops down on the couch next to him. Sam rolls his eyes as he throws his arm around Bucky’s shoulder and tugs him down, which is obviously where he wants to be right now anyway. Bucky rests his head in Sam’s lap, and Sam dips his fingers into the long strands of Bucky’s hair, petting him until he feels Bucky’s breathing even out.


	7. And I'll Be There

Bucky’s curled up on the floor at Steve’s side enjoying the soothing feel of Steve’s big hands over his fur when the cell phone rings, and the entire room tenses. He makes to shift back, but Steve’s hand gathers the scruff of his neck and squeezes gently, mimicking the calming grab of his teeth, to head him off.

It might be an emergency, but it’s just as likely a false alarm. Sometimes Tony just likes to call.

Bucky doesn’t blame him.

Steve smoothly slips the phone out of his pocket and sets it on the floor, where he answers it in speaker-mode. There’s no reason to hide anything from one another, no matter what kind of call this is. “Tony,” he says, steady and firm.

Nothing happens for a moment, but then they hear a long, harsh sigh.

Just a call then.

Bucky doesn’t bother to shift. He rolls onto his back, baring his chest and belly, and lets his eyes close, when Wanda kneels down at his side and begins to give him a good scratch.

“Capsicle,” Tony then says. “Can I...I want to...ah, fuck it.”

The call disconnects.

“That is third time this week,” says Wanda softly, not letting up.

“I know,” answers Steve. “I know, Wanda.”

“You should call back,” she urges.

“He won’t answer,” Steve says.

“You should call anyway,” says Clint from his perch up in the rafters.

Steve doesn’t say anything, but he reaches out and stills Wanda’s hand at Bucky’s chest.

Bucky rolls over again and gets up on his paws. He shakes himself and then stills, readying to shift again, but Steve’s hand stills him again.

“Come with me, Buck,” Steve then says, before fluidly shifting into his own wolf-form and loping out of the living room.

Bucky follows because he’ll follow Steve anywhere, but he stops in the door and looks back at his pack. Wanda’s picked up the cellphone and holds it in her lap, as if she can will it to ring again. Clint drops gracefully down out of the rafters and puts a hand on her shoulder. Sam sits back a little further into the couch and looks out the window, his expression tense and shuttered.

The soft whine tears itself from Bucky’s throat almost against his will.

“Go on, Barnes, he needs you,” Sam says, not looking at him.

Bucky whuffles and lowers his head, but still, he goes. Steve does need him, and Bucky’s spent too many wasted years not being there for Steve when he needs him. But it hurts this time to go.


	8. Are You What You Are

It’s hard for Steve sometimes to keep what he needs and what he wants separate when it comes to Bucky.

Need is hand-feeding Bucky, letting Bucky warm his cock, or falling asleep with his nose tucked against the scent-glands of Bucky’s neck. Need is looking at Bucky, knowing on a base, visceral level that only Steve’s scent can soothe him, and marking Bucky as his pack again. Need is the things that only a willing omega can provide an Alpha--the things that only an attentive Alpha can provide an omega in return.

Want is everything else.

He’s certain that his desire is obvious tonight. It’s not so obvious as rut, but Steve can tell that Bucky’s picked up the clues that Steve’s trying desperately to hide.

“I ain’t gonna bite ya, Stevie,” he says, with a subtle twist of his lips into the half-smile that had half of Brooklyn on its knees back in the day.

It always makes it so much harder, when Bucky unintentionally drags Steve into the past.

They’re on the back porch, Bucky sitting on the bench swing, and Steve leaned up against the staircase pole, enjoying the cool night air without the pressing need to go for a run. Steve’s been a mess since that last call from Tony, and though he’s been trying his best to keep it from impacting his pack, he knows he’s been failing. They need him to be strong, to keep it together, but it’s getting tougher, no matter how firm his resolve.

Fuck, why does everything have to be such a struggle all the time?

“C’mon,” Bucky continues, “I can feel you brooding all the way over here.” He pats the bench next to himself.

Steve sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. He doesn’t answer because he doesn’t trust himself not to give in and confess every desire, every hope, every wish that’s plagued him since he woke up from the ice--since he stared into Bucky’s unrecognizing eyes on the bridge--since he folded Bucky back into his life. He wants so much and yet at the same time so little.

He goes, though. After he turns to torture himself some more with the Bucky that looks and talks like his bonded, but who could be a completely different person tomorrow and a different person again the day after (which is why Steve’s been so steadfast and tried so, so, _so fucking hard_ not to give in), and after he looks into Bucky’s clear grey eyes, and after he sees the thing that he’s so desperate to see, Steve goes. He couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried, really. His feet carry him to the swing.

“S’okay, Stevie,” Bucky whispers, as he gets his arm around Steve’s neck and tugs him down a little. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m just so...so tired, Buck,” Steve whispers back, a ragged, choked thing that feels like it’s been punched out of him. “I’m so goddamn tired.”

“I know. I know,” Bucky soothes. He shifts a little until Steve’s face is buried in the crook of his neck. 

Steve inhales the old familiar scent, and god-- _god_ , if there was any kind of mercy left in the world, couldn’t Bucky smell different? If Bucky smelled different, maybe this wouldn’t be so fucking hard. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much to keep denying himself the only fucking thing in this world that he wants.

“I miss you,” he breathes. “I miss you so much, Buck.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a moment that feels endless. Steve wants to snatch the words back, shove them into his mouth, and pretend that he isn’t weak, but there’s only so much he can do. There’s only so much he can take. But then Bucky reaches across with his metal hand and presses it to the achy hollow of Steve’s chest. He just presses enough to make Steve feel it, and he says, “I’m here, Stevie. Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”

Steve swallows hard against his broken heart. Because fuck, how he wishes it was true.


	9. Why Don't You Take Me

Bucky courteously waits until Sam has left the room to make his move. He’s got Steve’s cock in his mouth and has just been warming it nicely, just the way Steve needs, but Bucky’s hungry for it tonight, and he knows that Steve has been intentionally playing it safe. Bucky appreciates that, honestly, even loves Steve for his caution--but at the same time, fucking hell, it’s so frustrating to be so close to what he wants and to be so far at the same time.

He gets Steve’s instinct, though, he really does. Steve doesn’t want to push too far. Steve doesn’t want to impose his will on Bucky because of the years and years and years of control others have asserted over him to make him do unspeakable things.

Never mind that in some ways--specifically in this way--Bucky wants Steve to assert his will. Bucky wants Steve to use him. Bucky wants Steve to remember how good it was when they were together.

Bucky wants a lot of things, as it turns out.

The door to Steve’s office shuts behind Sam, and Bucky inhales softly through his nose, taking in the clean, gentle scent of Steve all calm and businesslike, and then starts to push back.

“Ya done then, Buck?” Steve absently asks, not looking up from his paperwork.

No, Bucky’s not done.

He glances up at Steve, but Steve still isn’t looking. Buck’s always been good at getting Steve to pay attention though. He smiles, remembers a night like this from so many years ago, where he’d successfully distracted Steve from an art project. Steve’d been so mad at him at first, and then so, so happy with him, as he’d carefully and deliberately taken Steve apart in their tiny shared bed. Bucky misses it so much.

Bucky then gets his lips around the head of Steve’s cock and begins to suckle gently, tentative and easy. Then, he swipes his tongue over it, a nice firm lap at the head, before he draws it fully into his mouth again.

He feels the exact moment when Steve realizes that something’s changed--that this is no longer just the comfortable warmth of his omega’s mouth, but the delicious _heat_ of Bucky wanting more.

“Bucky, what are you--oh, _oh, fuck_ ,” he whispers, his fingers sliding through the long strands of Bucky’s hair and spreads his knees a little wider, seemingly involuntarily.

Bucky can’t help but smile. He flicks a sweet gaze up at Steve to find Steve’s bright blue eyes staring back at him. Steve’s pupils are dilating, and his breath is coming shorter. “Like that, Stevie?” he asks, lips brushing against Steve’s head.

“Yeah, Buck, I--wait, no, wait.” Steve sighs out harshly and shakes his head. “Not...not yet, Buck, please.”

Bucky lets out a little whine. “C’mon Stevie, let me take care of you. I wanna be so good for you,” he pouts.

“You can keep me warm if you want to, Buck, but that’s all,” Steve admonishes, though Bucky takes comfort in the fact in the pained look on his face. What he obviously wants is Bucky’s mouth doing what it’s intended to do: not just holding and warming and keeping Steve’s cock, but sucking it until he wrings a perfect orgasm from it.

Bucky looks up at Steve through his eyelashes, playing the flirt once more, and feels Steve’s fingers tighten in his hair when he asks in a low tone, “You sure ‘bout that, pal?”

Steve takes his time thinking. He opens his mouth once, twice, and a third time before he’s able to say anything. He swallows hard and sighs painfully. “Yeah, m’sure,” he practically whispers.

Disappointed, but sadly not really expecting anything otherwise, Bucky gives him a nod of acquiescence and then leans in to slide Steve’s dick comfortably back into his mouth. He rests his hands on Steve’s thighs again and closes his eyes. His heart rate slows, and his breathing evens out, but he never quite reaches that calm, floaty space in his head where everything is okay.


	10. The Need

Wanda has been around other omegas in heat many times before. She has seen this pain, has felt it herself: the desperate need, the pulsing desire, the emptiness that feels like it can never quite be filled. She knows how it feels to be surrounded by people, yet to feel utterly alone because she’s not bonded and has no Alpha heat partner to take care of her. She knows the agony of confinement, trapped with only the scent of other omegas in heat, all just doing their best to hold on and get through the pain with the comfort of each other.

She’s experienced bad heats before, but never so bad as this.

“Is like this always?” she asks, her own need almost an afterthought, as she drags her fingers through Bucky’s sweat-slickened hair. He’s curled up with her in Steve’s bed--because Steve’s bed is the only one big enough, and it’s covered with Steve’s Alpha scent, which at least helps to clear away some of the foggy-headedness associated with omega heat--and he’s wracked by full-body tremors that make him whimper and moan.

He grits his teeth around his answer, his metal fingers ripping into the coverlet, and presses his face into her neck, managing, “Only after.”

She knows that he means after Hydra. Because before, he was bonded to their Alpha, and everyone knows that bonded omegas experience heat only when their partners are in rut, so Bucky never would have had to go it alone. Hydra would have had him on heat suppressants if they had any sense, and so Bucky must have been alone for the last few years, unless he found a heat partner, which she doubts.

Wanda quirks her head toward the door suddenly. Bucky’s too far gone to have been able to hear it, but she caught it, the subtle sound of someone placing a hand on the doorknob.

Bucky moans and presses his face even tighter into her neck. A frisson of desire wends through Wanda as well--she knows who’s at the door. She can feel him, scent him, even if she can’t see him.

“Steve?” she calls.

“Steve!” Bucky echoes, and the desperate longing in his whine makes Wanda hold him the tighter.

She’s a poor substitute for an Alpha right now, but she’ll do what she can for her packmate, even if it’s at the expense of her own needs. “Shh, lovey, I have you,” she soothes.

Something shuffles outside the door, and Wanda can just picture it: Steve slumping down the door and sitting with his back to it. The thunk, then, of Steve rapping his head. He’s there, and he wants to come in and help them so badly; Wanda knows he wants it because she wants it too.

“Steve,” she calls again, her voice more firm this time. Wanda knows she can do this. Steve may not believe it when Bucky asks, but she was never bonded to him, except fraternally through their pack, and if she asks, maybe he’ll understand. “Steve, please go. We need you go away, please.”

Steve growls, and Wanda feels it deep within, soothing her, even as it makes Bucky whine high and tight. Before she can continue, Bucky’s up and out of the bed. He’s got his hands and face pressed against the door. “Stevie, please,” he begs. “Stevie, goddamnit, please, please, I need you, baby, please!”

Wanda gets out of bed herself, ignoring the pain, the cramping, the fever, and joins Bucky at the door. She gets a hand on his lower back and begins to carefully massage him there. “Come back to bed, Bucky. You come back now,” she orders quietly, firming her voice to simulate an Alpha’s as much as she’s able.

Bucky turns a pained gaze on her before he wrenches himself away from the door and launches himself back into the bed. He tugs the bedding up around himself, nesting as much as he’s able.

Wanda then presses her hand to the door, as if she can feel Steve’s firmly muscled back instead of the wooden frame. “Please Steve,” she whispers, knowing that he will hear her anyway, “you go now before you make it hurt more. Unless you want come in and help us, you must go.”

Steve quietly says, “Okay,” and then, pained, “Thank you for taking care of him.” Then after a pause, she hears him whuffle and then pad away. And that’s good--better that he take to the woods for a while, until this is done.


	11. If He'd Hold Me

It hurts-- why doesn’t Steve come-- god, he wants-- _it hurts_.

Bucky’s forehead is pressed against Wanda’s belly, and she’s curled up around him with her hands in his hair. She’s hurting too now, he can tell. He can smell it on her. Fucking, goddamnit, this whole fucking bedroom reeks of omegas in heat, even Steve’s scent on his bed is a distant fucking memory at this point, and why the hell is Steve doing this to them? Where is he? Bucky needs him-- he needs him and he’s not here-- he fucking _needs_ him, where is he?

The hot flash breaks between one breath and the next, and Bucky lets out a rush of a shaky sigh. He uncurls a little and maneuvers until he’s flat on his back. He’s long since discarded his briefs and doesn’t even fucking care that he’s leaking slick all over Steve’s bed. It serves him right for abandoning them when they need him most.

Wanda doesn’t deserve this torture. Bucky, well, at least he gets it, at least it makes sense for Steve not to want to touch him or hold him or knot him or bond him because Bucky’s a monster and doesn’t deserve those things, but Wanda? Wanda didn’t do anything wrong. Wanda didn’t ask for the powers she was given, and while she might have made a mistake or two, she didn’t hurt them on purpose. She didn’t hurt all those people on purpose, and she’s sorry about it, and she’s done her penance, and so there’s no fucking reason for Steve to leave them here alone when all they want, no, all they fucking need is Steve’s arms around them, Steve’s scent enveloping them and protecting them and soothing the terrible ache inside them.

“Bucky, Bucky, shhh, you talk nonsense!” Wanda cries, as she curls up to his side and butts her head against the hard muscle of his upper arm until he makes himself move to wrap it around her.

“Why’d you send him away?” Bucky manages, teeth gritted against the pain. “Why’d you send him away from us?”

She shivers against him. “Because is hard for him. Steve does not want to hurt us,” she answers.

“He’s hurting us now! We need him, Wanda. I...” Bucky’s voice breaks, and he lifts his metal hand up to press against his eyes, as if that will stop him from crying. “I need him.”

There’s a long mournful howl that sounds both impossibly far away and just outside the door at the same time. It’s almost like he heard it inside his own head. Bucky doesn’t want to hope, but he can’t stop himself. 

There’s suddenly the clipping of nails on hardwood, a short scuffle, the sound of a raised voice-- Sam arguing fiercely,“Steve, no, you’re gonna regret--”

The door bursts open, and Steve is there. He’s tall and sturdy and breathing hard and smells so fucking good it’s all Bucky can do to keep from rolling over and presenting immediately.

“I’m here,” Steve says, a low growl.

Wanda shivers again at Bucky’s side and whines softly.

“You’re here,” Bucky breathes.

“I’m here,” Steve repeats, as he takes a few steps closer, “I’m here, I’m here.”

“Stevie...” he pleads.


	12. Lonely At The Top

Most packs are largely comprised of beta-wolves simply because most wolves are betas, but Steve’s never been ordinary, and so why should his pack be ordinary? 

For one thing, his pack has two Alphas at the head of it, which is normally a recipe for disaster, except that somehow it wasn’t for Steve and Tony. They shared Alpha responsibilities and the desire to serve and protect their wolves equally. They balanced each other and respected each other, and they did what needed to be done for the good of their pack. They made it work (until they didn’t).

For another, his pack has several unattached omegas in it who defy all stereotypes and even logic at times. Wanda is the most powerful one among the lot of them, Bruce’s body chemistry is so fucked up from the botched super-serum that he doesn’t actually present as anything sometimes, and Bucky...well, Bucky’s sort of always been complicated.

Like this week. Like now.

Steve remembers Bucky’s heats from when they were bonded; he doesn’t think he could forget them even if he tried. Bucky was so tied to him, physically and emotionally. He was beautiful in his desire, submissive but never helpless, always pushing and wrestling for control in a way that drove Steve crazy in the best way possible. It was never boring with Bucky. It was never the same with Bucky, except that it was always, always perfect.

But god, if this is what it’s been like for Bucky all the years that Steve was lost to the ice? If the mournful whines and what sounds like deep, searing pain were the norm for Bucky for the seventy-odd years that Hydra kept him prisoner? Steve didn’t think it was possible to hate Hydra more than he already did, and yet, his blood begins to boil under his skin when he thinks of how much more it must have hurt Bucky.

(Natasha told him once that all the unattached omegas in the Black Widow program were given suppressants which is probably also what Hydra would have done to keep Bucky under control, and while it’s not exactly the best course of action, especially if Bucky was on them for years, it’s at least better than the torture of an unbonded, unassuaged heat.)

He misses Tony more than he lets on--and not just at times like this. It’s just that at times like this, Steve is acutely reminded of how much his pack is splintered, how much is missing, and how much it hurts.

Steve wishes Tony was here so badly he can taste it. Because if Tony was here, Tony could be the one to take care of their omegas this heat. Tony could be the one to step into that room and nest with them. Tony could be the one to wrap them up in his arms and hold them tightly, or pin them down by the neck or the hips and let them ride it out, or, if they really needed more and consented, bring them off with his fingers, or fill them with his knot. Tony could do all those things instead of Steve because Steve trusted Tony to take such good care of them.

Pack abuses weren’t unheard of out in the world at large, but Steve had always been adamant about the need for clear and open lines of communication with his wolves, and Tony had shared that same view. It was why they had worked so well as Alphas of a shared pack. They both appreciated the sacred responsibility of caring for their omegas in heat and understood the trust that was being placed in them.

Tony always did so well by Wanda and Bruce during their heats, and despite the pain Bucky had caused Tony, however little it was his fault, Steve’s certain that Tony would have set it aside in the face of Bucky’s need.

But Tony’s not here. Tony’s not here, and so it is up to Steve to make things right. He’ll have to be strong, stronger perhaps than he’s ever been to resist what’s no doubt going to be the very compelling temptation to reignite the bond between himself and Bucky. He’ll have to be strong for them both, give them what they need without failing them.

He can do this. He has to do this.

Because Tony’s not here to help him. Not this time.

“Stevie…” Bucky pleads.

Steve swallows against the lump in his throat, straightens his back and projects as much calm as he can. “What do you need from me?”

Bucky just whines, plaintive and hoarse, as if he can’t focus on anything other than the fact that Steve has returned, but Wanda answers. “Hold us, please. Just hold us now,” she requests.

“Of course,” Steve replies. The bed dips under his weight as he climbs in between them and gathers them close in his arms.


	13. You Whisper Softly To Me

Bucky feels small and grounded and safe, pressed face-first into the bed and covered with the full length of Steve’s body. Steve’s got his nose pushed inelegantly into the scent-glands at Bucky’s neck, and his cock’s nestled in the cleft of Bucky’s ass, hips grinding slowly, inexorably, in small smooth thrusts. He’s hard against Bucky, he’s so hard he’s throbbing with need, and the little sounds of his desire, muffled as they are by his lips against Bucky’s skin, wend their way through Bucky and light him up from the inside.

It doesn’t matter now that Steve isn’t ready to fuck him. It doesn’t matter that Steve isn’t ready to knot him and bond with him again. The only thing that matters is that Steve is here, he’s here right now, now, he’s here now and he’s hot and hard and wanting, and Bucky is the one that’s making him feel so good. He knows it because Steve’s saying it, he’s murmuring it into Bucky’s skin--

_you’re so good, Bucky, fuck, you’re so good, you feel so good, so wet and slick and hot, fuck, you’re such a good boy, such a good omega, so perfect_

\--like a litany, like a prayer, like everything Bucky’s ever wanted to hear since the first moment he stared across that tiny godforsaken room in Bucharest into the eyes of the person he’d never really, truly, all the way forgot no matter how many times Hydra burned it out of his head. He’s Steve’s, he’s always been Steve’s, and Hydra can’t take that away, nobody can take that away, because deep down they both know it’s true, and it’s only a matter of time before they’re ready, before they can be whole and sweet and perfect again.

He’s glad that Wanda’s gone. He’s glad that her heat has ended because though he loves her, loves that she’s his friend, his pack, he doesn’t think he could have stood to watch if she’d needed more than just the fervid warmth of Steve’s all-encompassing embrace. He doesn’t think he could have handled the jealousy that rose up swift and fierce at just the thought.

God, he loves Steve. He loves his Alpha so much.

And Steve loves him. Bucky knows it. He knows it in his fucking bones. He remembers what it was like before, and he knows without the shadow of a doubt that he can have it again. He can wait if he has to, but he knows it’s coming.

With a groan, Steve forces himself up just enough so that he can get a hand under Bucky’s hips. “Come on, Buck, I know you need it. Let me give it to you,” he growls.

Bucky whines, high and tight, and tilts his pelvis enough that Steve can get a hand around his cock. “Please, fuck, yes, goddamn, yes, please, Stevie,” he begs. 

Steve works his cock with brutal strokes, doesn’t let up as Bucky squirms and moans and whines, doesn’t stop thrusting through against Bucky’s slickened asshole, doesn’t stop crying out curses and praise and promises, until he stills his hand and his hips and orders, “Come for me, Buck.”

The heat wave crests and Bucky slams his eyes shut tight, panting, as he shoots out his release, hips thrusting helplessly and ass leaking slick. He collapses forward into the bed again, unmindful of the mess, unmindful of anything other than Steve’s huge hands petting over his body from his neck down his spine and over his ass and Steve’s whispered endearments and praises, as he trembles through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“Feel better, Buck?” Steve asks.

Bucky has no idea how much time has passed, but he doesn’t care. He feels more himself than he has in weeks. He feels better than he had previously even on his “good days.” His heat’s not over yet, he can tell by the persistent throb in his lower belly, but it feels less urgent, less painful, like it’s ebbing away.

“Yeah,” he answers honestly.

Steve doesn’t answer for a long time, just letting Bucky breathe, settle, calm down. But then he says, quietly, “Got one more in you tonight?”

Bucky opens his eyes to find Steve lying at his side, staring at him with wide, pleading baby blue eyes. “Really?” he asks, more a sigh than anything. He doesn’t dare to hope too much. He knows Steve won’t fuck him, not yet, but...but maybe--

“If you need,” Steve replies. “If you want.”

Bucky smiles and closes his eyes again. “Please,” he whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title's a Madonna lyric.


	14. The Family We Choose

Scott is the first to seek her out, which surprises Wanda a little. She had thought it would be Sam for as close as he and Steve are, or Clint who often needs the reassurance of Steve’s scent when Steve himself is not around, but it is Scott who sidles up to her on the couch and asks if he can sit with her as she watches a reality program about storage units.

She nods, and he smiles, grateful and eager, before he plops down at her side and ever-so-unsubtly inhales deeply.

“Rest your head here,” Wanda says and pats her lap in invitation. “I am covered with it, I know.”

Scott blushes and flaps his hand. “Nah, it’s cool, this is good, I mean, I’m just, you know, this is still pretty crazy, right?” he babbles. “Captain America and everything? Heh, I mean, you know, you’re Scarlet Witch and just...Avengers, man.”

Wanda’s fairly certain she gets what he means by all that, and it makes her smile again. “Steve is good man. Kind, fierce, loyal. He chose you too, whether you believe yet or not,” she assures him, as she reaches out to direct his head onto her upper thigh.

He settles easily, inhaling deeply of Steve’s scent on Wanda’s skin again. “Sam’s the one who chose me, really,” he protests, but there’s no heat in it.

“Sam brought you, yes, but Steve chose you. He did not have to accept your help. He did not have to take you into his pack.” She pauses, chuckling lightly as she begins to sift her hand through Scott’s hair. “You must see how Steve does not do things against his own will.”

Scott snorts. “Kinda how we got into this mess in the first place, huh?” he says.

“Yes,” Wanda says, and while she doesn’t mean to tighten her fingers in Scott’s hair, his yelp of discomfort betrays her failure. “Sorry,” she adds, stiffly.

“No, I’m sorry!” Scott cries out. He maneuvers so that he can look straight up into Wanda’s eyes. “Sorry, that was dumb, I didn’t mean it, I’m still not...I’m pretty crap at this whole ‘pack’ thing, right? Like I suck?”

Wanda sighs and gives him her wrist, which he presses gratefully to his nose and inhales. “Is taking some practice,” she murmurs. “Some time.”

“You’ll get there, man,” says Sam.

Wanda looks up, and Sam’s stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, looking defensive and small. Her eyes soften and she beckons him over too. “I’m sure it won’t be much longer,” she assures him, as he takes a seat at her feet.

“Yeah…” Sam trails off, and then, without saying anything else, shifts. The wolf curls up tight at her feet, and Scott dangles his hand over the edge of the couch and begins to stroke along Sam’s fur.

“Is hard for him sometimes,” Wanda tells Scott, even though Sam can hear and understand her. “Is hard for all of us sometimes, when Steve is gone.”

“He’s not gone though, he’s just…” Scott flushes lightly. “Yeah, okay, I get it, I get it. Shutting up now and letting Captain America do what he’s gotta do, no biggie, it’s just Captain freaking America.”

“It’s Steve,” Wanda insists. She scratches her nails lightly over Scott’s scalp, and he burrows a little further into her lap, remaining quiet. “It’s our Steve.”


	15. Wrapped Up, Warm, Together

The door swings open to reveal a shaggy, lanky russet wolf. He sniffs the air, cocks his head, and lets out a beckoning howl.

Bucky and Steve exchange glances--Steve’s fond and amused, Bucky’s resigned.

“Aw you guys, it fucking reeks in here,” Clint says, after he shifts. He’s grinning, though, and he laughs when Steve just rolls his eyes and gives him the finger. “Can I?”

“Okay with you, Buck?” Steve asks quietly.

Bucky has to take a moment to check in with himself. It’s one of the things Sam’s taught him. Admittedly, their relationship isn’t the best, but Sam’s really good at putting aside the pettier stuff when it seems like Bucky really needs him. Bucky appreciates that about Sam. He appreciates a lot of things about Sam, to be honest, even though he doesn’t always let on that that’s true.

The few days after Bucky’s heats are usually ‘bad days’. He knows this from experience. Suffering through his almost unbearable heats alone for the last two years has taught him that the nightmares are always worse, the memories are always more disjointed, and the dysphoria is heightened. Bucky had learned that it was better to spend his recovery days as a wolf because though he was still himself, everything was a whole lot simpler in wolf-form.

But the thing is, he isn’t alone anymore, and he doesn’t have to be. And maybe that’ll help with his fucked up head.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, and no sooner have the words left his lips, then Clint is bounding onto Steve’s giant bed and shimmying in between them. Possibly despite himself, Bucky snorts a laugh. “By all means, make yourself comfortable.”

“Ugh, it’s worse up close,” Clint retorts, but makes a bit of a show of burrowing his face into the blanket and inhaling. “Mmm, pheromones,” he adds, the words muffled but audible.

“You’re a real weirdo, Barton,” Steve says, as he sits up and shimmies back against the headboard, and when Bucky glances up at him, Steve blushes and looks away, trying to bite the smile off his own lips.

“I agree with Steve,” Sam says, as he comes into the room as well. He looks Bucky in the eye, and Bucky, for all his strength, has to look away. Sam then seems to hesitate, weighing his own obvious desire to surround himself with his pack against Bucky’s seeming discomfort. “Room for one more?” Sam then asks hopefully.

Bucky is the one to answer this time because it would be selfish of him not to allow it--and the more Clint burrows into the bed, the more Bucky realizes that it really will be better to be surrounded. He’s got so many people in his life now, and none of them are actively trying to hurt him anymore. Everything is better. Everything is so much better now. “Come on in,” he says to Sam, holding back the corner of the blanket.

Sam’s answering smile is easy and quick. The bed dips with his weight, and Bucky tries to slide over to give him room to lay down, but he seems content with sitting up against the headboard.

“Go on,” comes Wanda’s gently commanding voice. She pushes Scott into the bedroom, and he stands sheepishly at the foot of the bed until she nudges him again. “Go on, what you waiting for? Everyone here, you’re welcome too.”

“She’s right,” Steve says fondly. He then turns and grins at Wanda, and she nods back at him, as Scott, almost giddy, finds a spot for himself on Steve’s other side. Wanda then comes around to curl up with her head in Sam’s lap and her feet tangling with Bucky’s legs.

“Your feet are cold!” Bucky exclaims, surprised.

“So warm them,” Wanda teases, with a raised eyebrow.

“Play nice, all of you, or I’m kicking you out,” says Steve, but the threat is hilariously empty, and they all know it.

With minimal dislodging of the rest of them, Bucky manages to roll onto his side so that he can look up at Steve. Clint’s still sandwiched between them and seems already to have fallen asleep, so he’s probably not going to be moving any time soon. Steve looks down at him with an unreadable expression, and he reaches over Clint’s back to slide his hand into Bucky’s hair.

“We got another call while you were...indisposed,” Sam says, softly. “No emergency, obviously, or we would have come got you.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Steve replies, and Bucky can hear the tension creep in, even in just those two words.

Bucky concentrates on the firm weight of Steve’s hand and sighs, letting his eyes fall closed again. If he’s soft and good and quiet like this, maybe that will help Steve relax again. Bucky can do that. He can be good.


	16. I Could Be So Good For You

Bucky’s looking at Steve like Steve hung the moon, and for once, all Steve feels about it is happiness. Happiness and relief, maybe. Because things are good...things have been really, really good since Bucky’s heat ended. Steve doesn’t want to jinx it, but it’s true. Things have been really, really fucking good lately.

That’s not to say that Bucky hasn’t had some bad days because he definitely has, just like Steve himself has had some pretty crap days. Bucky’d shifted and run off into the woods for two whole days a week or so ago, and Steve had practically barricaded himself in Wanda’s bedroom, letting her fuss over him and boss him around until he felt better about himself and his decisions. But those were the exceptions to the rule, and yeah, maybe they’re just in the lull between storms right now and maybe they’re due for some kind of really big blow-up, but for now, things are just really good, and Steve is determined to let himself enjoy it while he can.

He runs his hand over Bucky’s head and trails it down to cup Bucky by the chin. “You’re really somethin’, Buck, you know that?” he asks fondly, tracing his thumb back and forth over Bucky’s cheekbone.

Bucky’s eyes flutter closed, and he smiles, tilting his head and leaning into the touch. “Am I?” he asks in return.

“You know you are,” Steve replies. “You’re so good for me. You’re always so good for me, I don’t know what I did to deserve such a good omega.”

Bucky’s lips curve up now into a smirk, though his eyes remain closed, and he teases, “And here I’m wondering what bet I lost to get stuck with a palooka like you for an Alpha.” Steve pinches Bucky’s earlobe between his thumb and forefinger, hard enough to make Bucky yelp and then laugh when he opens his eyes. “That all you got for your Bucky?” he adds.

It can be a little hard when Bucky’s like this, when Bucky’s at his most like he was eighty years ago, when they were stupid kids running around Brooklyn like they hadn’t a care in the world. It can be hard for Steve to remember all that’s happened in between, all that’s brought them to this exact moment in time. ‘We’re going to the future,’ Bucky had said to him once, and here they are, against all odds, in that future Bucky’d promised him, but it’s hard and it’s painful and sometimes Steve’s so weak that he thinks he’d give it all up just to go back to before.

“Hey now, wait,” Bucky says. He uses his hands on Steve’s knees to lever himself back up to standing, and now he’s the one to slip those hands around Steve’s face, trace his thumbs over Steve’s cheekbones, and purr, “Don’t go away on me yet. C’mon, Stevie."

Steve exhales softly, enjoying the petting for a moment, before he opens his eyes and gives Bucky a saucy glare. “Did I say you could get up?”

Bucky gasps softly and quickly gets back down to his knees.

“That’s better. So good,” Steve praises, “so obedient. Such a good boy for his Alpha, isn’t he?”

Bucky makes a noise that Steve doesn’t think he could describe even if he tried. He brings his hands behind his back and crosses them at the wrist. Steve’s not quite ready to tie him up yet, but the simulation is enough. Then, he looks up at Steve through his eyelashes, flirtatious and soft.

“Wanna warm me up, baby?” Steve murmurs, reaching out and running his thumb over Bucky’s lower lip until Bucky parts them and sucks Steve’s thumb into his mouth gently. “Can my omega warm me up for a little while?”

Bucky nods and then sucks just a little harder, swirls his tongue around the tip of Steve’s thumb.

Steve sucks in a breath and exhales it shakily. “Well, um, huh,” he manages, before the look in Bucky’s eyes overwhelms him completely. He knows what Bucky really wants, and even though he’s been afraid to let it happen, Steve realizes that he’s holding back too much and that maybe...maybe it’s time to try, just a little.

“God, you’re so good,” Steve continues then. “You’re such a good boy for me.” He reaches down and undoes his belt, unbuttons his jeans, and unzips his fly. “Go on, baby, go ahead.”

Bucky’s eyes widen a little and cocks his head, uncertain. “Um, wait, can...can I…do you want me to...?” he trails off.

“Yeah, baby,” Steve assures him. “Please. You deserve it. You’ve been so good. You’ve been perfect.”

Bucky grins, brilliant and blinding, and Steve can’t help but meet it.


	17. Squeeze Tight

He whimpers against a sudden, intense wave of arousal tears through him. He’s so hard he’s aching in his jeans, but that doesn’t matter right now. His own pleasure doesn’t matter in the face of what Steve needs. He’s always so good to Steve, he can give Steve this right now, and Steve is going to love it so much. Steve is going to be so damned proud of him.

He sucks a little harder now, uses his tongue the way he’s confident Steve used to love.

“Shit! Holy fuh--huh--hnnn!” Steve cries out, head tipping back over the back of the couch and hips bucking up. “Wha--what--oh my god, what is this?”

Bucky’s eyes widen. He doesn’t know-- how is this-- _fucking Christ_.

Steve is fucking knotting Bucky’s mouth, and that is just-- fuck, that is so incredibly _hot_. Bucky didn’t even think this was the kind of thing that really happened in real life--back in the day, it was almost like an urban legend (my friend’s brother had it off a fella he met in the service that he once knotted an omega in the face!), and now, it’s definitely something that he’s seen in porn (which he knows is totally fake), but he’s never experienced anything like it, and it is overwhelming in the best possible way.

He can tell though that Steve’s not quite sure what to do now, so Bucky just smiles up at him, his mouth stretching around Steve’s knot, and then relaxes his jaw as best he can so Steve can start thrusting gently.

“Buck, Jesus, I--” Steve’s eyes shut as he cuts himself off on a sharp exhale when Bucky swallows around him. He pants for a moment and drops his hand to rest heavily on Bucky’s head. Then, he tries to pull himself together, swallowing hard and taking a deeper breath. “Bucky, I don’t know how...I mean, I’ve never-- is this...is this okay?”

It’s not like Bucky can say anything, but fucking hell is it _okay_. It’s more than okay. It’s everything Bucky’s been wanting for weeks and weeks, and sure, maybe Steve’s not buried deep inside him, knotting them together in preparation to bite and re-bond, but it’s more than Steve’s given him in so long. Bucky’s feeling good, his head isn’t nearly as much of a mess as it used to be, and he actively _wants_ so badly he can literally taste it.

He inhales through his nose and swallows again. His mouth is so full he’s starting to drool a little, but it’s fine because _Steve’s knot is inside him_ , and Bucky doesn’t know if or when he’ll get to have this again any time soon, so he’s for damned sure going to make the most of it.

“Bucky, I, oh god,” Steve moans. He sifts his hand through Bucky’s hair, and Bucky tries not to melt under the warmth of that gentle touch. “I gotta move, Buck, is that...two taps for yes, I gotta move, please. Please, baby.”

Stevie’s always been such a sweet beggar. Bucky remembers that very clearly.

So he looks up at Steve through his eyelashes, coy and playful. He swallows as best he can again, taking pleasure in the way Steve’s eyes practically roll back in his head. He takes a breath through his nose, and he carefully taps the inside of Steve’s thigh two times distinctly.


	18. Run Together, Not Apart

As much as their pack isn’t exactly the most traditional, without an Alpha around, Sam tends to take the lead. The others just kind of naturally gravitate toward him whenever Steve is _indisposed_ , which Sam doesn’t mind at all, really. It’s just that at the end of the day, Sam isn’t an Alpha and he can’t provide the kind of things to his pack that an Alpha can. He’d said it jokingly once before that he did everything Steve did only slower, which was definitely true when it came to Avenging, but not necessarily true otherwise.

For example, as much as he can project calm and soothe when people got all riled up, and as much as he can cuddle with the best of them, sometimes a wolf just needs some attention from his or her Alpha. Sometimes a wolf just needs to be scent-marked again to reinforce their bond. Sometimes a wolf just needs a lot of things that a beta can’t quite do.

(Sometimes a strong beta like Sam _also_ needs a little attention from his Alpha, but well, he can put that aside for the moment. He knows that Steve and Barnes are working something out.)

But the pups are starting to get restless, and Sam knows it has less to do with the fact that they haven’t seen any real action since Steve and Tony fell out and more to do with the fact that ever since Bucky’s heat ended, Steve and Bucky have been spending more alone-time together.

Now Steve has never seemed like the kind of Alpha who would neglect his pack in favor of his mate. Admittedly, Steve did kinda, sorta go off the rails a little bit when Bucky came crashing back into his life a few years ago, and Steve definitely dragged Sam on the adventure of a lifetime trying to get Bucky back after Bucky disappeared. But at the end of the day, Steve is loyal and fierce and a really fucking top-notch Alpha who would sooner give himself up than abandon his pack when they needed him most.

Which is why Sam’s frankly a little concerned. Because yeah, part of this might just be that normally this would be the part where Tony stepped up and took charge for a little while, and vice versa for when Tony got a little too far into his own head or his own lab or his own mate. But there is no Tony here to pick up the Alpha-slack, which is a sore point for Steve, but the stubborn asshole refuses to talk too much about it and--

Sam shakes his head and sighs. No use getting into that again. He’s got a job to do right now, and that job is to get Steve to come out of the office and maybe take his wolves for a run. They need it. All of them.

He knocks on Steve’s office door, and Steve immediately calls for him to come in. He braces himself for whatever the hell he’s about to find (although if Steve was straight up banging Barnes, he’s pretty sure Steve would’ve told him to go away), and opens the door, only to see Steve just reading through a file at his desk. Bucky’s shifted and curled up napping in the corner.

“He’s having a bad day,” Steve says, voice hard and eyes not leaving the folder. “Really fucking bad day.”

“Sorry, man,” Sam replies, as he walks in and takes a seat on the edge of the desk. “Recovery’s not linear. You know that.”

“I know,” Steve bites out. “Still sucks.”

“Definitely still sucks.”

Steve then flicks a glare up at him. “If you’re here to tell me that the others need me, you can save it because I already know, and I also know that I’m a fucking terrible failure at the moment, and I’m sorry, so just, again, go ahead and save it.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, Steve,” Sam warns, hackles rising.

“Like what, Sam?” Steve challenges.

“Nope, you can shut that shit down right now because I’m not having it, man,” Sam replies, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not your fault Barnes is having a shit day, and startin’ shit with me damn sure isn’t gonna fix it.”

Steve’s mouth drops open and his anger flares, but then just as quickly, he deflates, shoulders slumping as he casts his eyes down. “But it is my fault,” he says.

“No way,” Sam says.

“No, it is, Sam. I think I...I don’t know--”

“--let’s go for a run,” Sam interrupts, intending to derail the self-loathing train before it leaves the station. “Come on, let’s go for a run. All of us.”

“I don’t know,” Steve hedges, casting a glance behind him to where Bucky is still wolfish and sleeping.

“Take us for a run, Steve,” Sam orders gently.

Letting out a harsh sigh, Steve turns back to him and offers a soft, sad smile. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s go for a run. I’ve been...I miss you,” he admits.

“We’re right here.” Sam grins at him and then, without waiting, shifts.

Steve reaches out a hand and scratches Sam between the ears. “Thanks, Sammy,” he whispers. Then, he too shifts and leads Sam out the door to herd the others for their run.


	19. Left Alone To My Devices

Bucky remains a wolf all night and well into the next day, and even then, he only lasts about an hour or so before he shifts back into his wolfish body and lays down in front of the fire in the communal. He knows they went off on a run without him, a long one clearly, and that’s fine, honestly, he doesn’t think he could handle running with the pack right now even though his blood’s practically singing with the desire for it.

Sometimes he just wants to be alone. Sometimes, even though he knows he doesn’t have to be alone anymore, it’s better for him to just be by himself.

It’s because sometimes he gets locked on the bad times. Sometimes no matter what he tries, all that his still-fucked-up head wants to give him are the kills.

Bucky never wanted to be a killer. He never wanted anything like that. He’d been drafted into the Army, so he served, and he took up his position as a sniper because they asked him to do it, and then he fell from the train, and they found him and they made him kill and kill and kill--

It’s so much clearer when he’s a wolf. He’s still himself, but everything is so much simpler and clearer. And that’s why it’s hard today. It’s hard because he’s a wolf and everything still feels so urgent and painful and shitty and he hates it. He hates what he did.

And he just wants to be alone, so he’s glad that the others are gone right now. He’s glad that they probably won’t be back for a little while. There’s a note on the kitchen table, but he only skimmed it before he shifted back. It’s okay. 

They usually leave him alone when he really needs to be alone, which is nice of them, but the weight of Steve’s sadness at times like that falls heavily on Bucky, even though Steve doesn’t mean to do it. He just wants to take care of Bucky, that’s all, and Bucky really appreciates it, he does, but sometimes, he just wants to be alone and not feel guilty for wanting that.

It’s good they’re gone right now. It’s really, really good.

He lays by the fire, enjoying the warmth, letting it seep into him. He lays there for a long time, not asleep, but not awake either. He enjoys his time alone.

His ears prick up suddenly. There’s a sound at the perimeter. There’s a sound like footsteps. There’s a sound at the back door. There’s a sound...there’s a scent.

That’s not his pack. Bucky knows his pack and that isn’t his pack--

His hackles rise and he lets out a low growl as he pads to the door. He’s not afraid. He doesn’t want to be a killer, but he will defend his house to the death. He will defend his pack to the death.

The door swings open. Bucky makes to pounce, but the wind shifts. The wind shifts, and the scent-- he knows that scent. It’s...he knows it, that’s his--he doesn’t move. He cocks his head. He whines.

“Well, heya, Barnes,” Stark says.


	20. Apologies

Tony doesn’t like to admit that he’s caught off guard by Barnes’s presence in the house. He really thought he was going to show up and surprise them all, but he’s the one surprised, and he kind of freaking hates that. He had such plans. Good plans, seriously, because he decided finally to just show up at the safe house that he’s known about for months because he’s a genius and a billionaire and has more resources than god, and it isn’t _caving in_ , it’s going full Gryffindor on Steve’s ass and being the one to ask the tough questions. It’s being the one to do the talking thing because Tony’s an enlightened kind of guy, and talking is actually pretty important, and he can definitely be the one to start things up because Steve’s certainly not going to do it, and this has literally nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that he misses his pack, that’s stupid and why would you even--

“Stark,” says Barnes.

“Shit, don’t feel like you gotta de-wolf for little old me, Barnes,” Tony replies easily.

Barnes ducks his head and his hair sort of falls into his face. He looks...well, shit, he looks pretty wolfish still, but like a hunted sort of a wolf, and fucking hell, is Steve taking care of his people or not? Like why did he leave his omega behind, after all the trouble he went through to tear apart their pack just to get said omega back? As much as Tony is still really not at all cool with Barnes, he can admit that he’s calmed down a bit, and he understands academically if not yet totally emotionally that Barnes didn’t really kill his mom and dad, that HYDRA are the ones that really killed his mom and dad, and yeah, definitely fuck HYDRA sideways, but like, Barnes really looks like shit. 

Maybe Tony’s missing something here…Steve’s supposed to be the good Alpha between the two of them, and he’s supposed to be the fun and kinda shitty one. It’s like good cop, bad cop, and if anyone is the definition of good cop, it’s Steve fucking Rogers. So something’s obviously up, and Tony’s probably going to regret it, but he’s going to just--

“You good, Barnes?” he asks.

Barnes hesitates, hunching a little more in on himself. “No,” he mutters, so quietly that if Tony didn’t have enhanced senses, he probably wouldn’t have heard it.

“What’s wrong, pal?” Tony tries. Not that he actually cares or anything, but, hell, he’s an Alpha too and Alphas are kinda hard-wired to take care of omegas in distress, and seriously fuck Steve for leaving Barnes here--

“S’not Stevie’s fault,” Barnes snaps.

_Ooh, yeah, doing the talking out loud thing again, not cool, Stark._

Tony raises his hands to show he’s unarmed. (Well, he’s wearing the wrist protectors, so he can call the suit if he needs to, he’s not a complete idiot, and he remembers quite clearly exactly what happened the last time he faced off against a Barnes who wasn’t totally in control of his faculties.) “Easy, big guy,” he says. “Can I...uh, what can I do?”

Barnes’s face does a thing that practically punches Tony in the gut. His instinct to protect rears up fierce and strong, and seriously, he fucking hates this guy, he really does, he hates him in a completely emotional, irrational way, but it doesn’t stop Tony from taking three steps forward, gripping the back of Barnes’s neck and tugging him in so that their foreheads are pressed together. Barnes is way taller than Tony is, so Barnes has to hunch down, but he goes willing and pliant, huffing out a sigh that Tony feels across his face.

“I’m sorry,” Barnes whispers. “I know it doesn’t mean anything, but I’m sorry.”

And Tony really wants to make a glib, shitty remark. He wants to toss off something sarcastic or snide, or just pretend that the apology is for something else, but he knows what Barnes is saying. He knows, and even though he’s not sure he can actually accept it, Tony isn’t sure that he is ready to really, fully accept it yet, it’s really hard when he’s got this omega in his arms radiating distress and pain.

So he swallows his pride and his own pain, and he tilts his chin up, offering Barnes the scent-glands at his neck. Barnes whines and moves so that he can tuck his nose in, and the angle is so awkward, but the whole body shiver that wracks Barnes and the tension that leaves his shoulders is so fucking worth it.

Tony pets a hand over Barnes’s head, and he says, “Thank you.” Not ‘I forgive you’ because he doesn’t yet, or ‘It’s okay’ because it’s never going to be okay, but ‘thank you’ because it really does feel good to hear that Barnes remembers what he did and is sorry for it.

Barnes’s hands come up to rest on Tony’s hips so that he can pull himself closer, like he wants to push his nose inside of Tony’s body. “You’re welcome,” he says, muffled by Tony’s skin.

Tony continues to pet over Barnes’s hair until, after a long, long moment (probably longer than Tony’s stood still in a very long time), Barnes finally pulls back. They look each other over, Barnes contemplative, Tony suspicious, but trying really hard not to be, and then, Barnes nods sharply once and, without saying anything further, shifts back to his wolf.

“Okay, then,” Tony says, after Barnes pads off. He follows the wolf into the living room and watches as Barnes turns in a circle a few times and then falls down with a whuff in front of the fireplace. He curls up and tucks his snout in tight. 

Tony then shrugs and says, “Fuck it,” before he, too, shifts. He joins Barnes, lays down with his back pressed up against to Barnes’s, and settles in to wait for Steve to come home.


	21. You Can Be Okay

Stark’s warm. Not as warm as Steve who might as well be a furnace, but still really nice and warm. The heat from the fire is nice on his face, and Stark is pressed warm and safe against his back, and it feels good.

They never got a chance to do this before everything fell apart. Bucky never really got a chance to be part of Steve’s pack--Steve’s _real_ pack. He wonders what it was like when it was all of them together. He wonders what it might have been like to curl up in a big pile with everyone. He wonders if he would have been welcome.

Suddenly, Stark’s on his feet with a growl. He darts his head back and forth and then shifts back. Bucky looks up calmly and watches as Stark pants and pats down his arms, as if he’s checking that he’s still alive, still okay. 

Stark looks down and then he lets out a bitter little laugh, as he runs a hand through his hair and the other over his chest, rubbing at where the arc reactor used to be. “Fuck, man, I don’t--yeah usually I don’t like doing the whole...you know, the sleeping while I’m…” he trails off and rolls his hand in a circle, but doesn’t say.

Bucky gets it. Well, he kinda gets it anyway.

“It’s just fuckin’ weird,” Stark continues, beginning to pace back and forth in front of Bucky. “It’s weird to wake up and your body’s not...it’s not what you-- I don’t know, shit!”

Bucky flattens his ears and lowers his head. Stark’s getting agitated, and that’s not...Bucky doesn’t like it when Alphas get upset in his presence. He hates it. 

“Oh fuck, fucking-- I’m not trying to…” Stark drops into a crouch and scrubs his hands over his head again. He’s radiating distress in the same way Stevie always does -- must be an Alpha thing -- like he’s embarrassed that he’s behaving this way. “Fuck! Why am I even-- damnit Barnes, I--”

Bucky doesn’t really want to shift back. He’s been really enjoying the simplicity of being in his wolf form. But Stark needs him right now, doesn’t he? Stark, even though he’s not really Bucky’s Alpha, needs his help.

It’s probably the least that he can do for Stark at this point. (Well, no, the least he could have done was apologize, and he did that, and it felt really, really good, and he’s not sure why, but it did.) He can put aside his discomfort for a bit, and he can help Stark feel better. He’s good at that.

Steve would probably be really proud of him actually. 

Bucky shifts, and Stark sits back hard on his ass, surprised probably. “S’okay, Tony,” Bucky says quietly.

“No, I, shit-- I didn’t mean to make you...you didn’t have to…”

“You’re okay, you know. You’re okay,” Bucky assures him. He reaches out a hand slowly, and Stark tracks it, but he lets Bucky slip it into Stark’s hair. Bucky then scratches his nails gently over Stark’s scalp, and Stark leans into him a little. “You’re okay. You’re Tony Stark.”

“Yeah, I...I know, fuck! Yeah,” Stark says, but his eyes close and he leans in a little more to Bucky’s hand.

Bucky smiles. “You’re okay. You can be okay,” he replies.


	22. We Can Work It Out

Sam’s legs are tired, but he feels great. He feels refreshed and more like himself than he has in a while. This whole exile thing has really taken a toll on him, on all them, but he feels really good now, and he can tell that Steve feels much better too.

They reach the edge of their property, and Steve pulls ahead of them all, sprinting through the trees and bursting out into the backyard.

Sam shifts and calls out, “Steve, what the hell--” but he catches the scent easily and understands what happened. “Shit,” he says to himself, as the others lope up next to him and shift back one by one.

Wanda’s eyes widen as she turns to Sam. “Tony,” she breathes.

“Yeah,” Sam replies.

“Should we, um, I mean, probably not a good idea to get in the middle of that, right?” Clint offers, folding his arms over his chest.

“Probably, yeah, that’d be bad. Don’t wanna get between Cap and Iron Man!” Scott adds, looking far more nervous than usual when it comes to his famous packmates.

Sam looks at each of them in turn, then turns towards the house. Steve’s pushed himself through the door at this point and can no longer be seen. “Ah fuck,” Sam says, before he takes off in a run to the house. He’s not going to leave Steve to this alone, whatever the hell it is that Steve found in the house. Who knows what shape Barnes is in, and alone with Tony? Couldn’t have been good, no matter what happened.

When he bursts through the back door, Sam finds Steve with his hackles raised and growling low and continuously in the back of his throat. Tony’s sitting on the couch across from the fireplace, and Bucky in his wolf form is curled up on the couch next to Tony with his head up and eyes firmly on Steve. He doesn’t look upset, though, and neither does Tony. They’re just quietly, casually existing next to each other, seemingly unbothered by the challenge Steve is presenting.

Sam feels the others gather behind him, and suddenly, Wanda’s hand is in his. Clint stretches to get his chin on Sam’s shoulder, and Scott crowds in behind him and Wanda.

“Heya, guys,” says Tony, all smirking insolence. “Did ya miss me?”

Steve bares his teeth and growls.

Sam tries his best to emit calming beta pheromones, but he knows he’s always been a little useless in that department when Steve’s at his most agitated. As he’d thought, it seems to have little effect, as Steve takes one step closer to Bucky and Tony, one hand reaching out to them and the other curled into a fist at his side. “Steve,” Sam tries. “Easy, man. It’s all good.”

“Buck, are you okay?” Steve asks, ignoring him and Tony and everyone else in the room.

Bucky flicks an ear and cocks his head, just looking at Steve, and Sam swears he’s going to fucking pop the guy one the next time he gets a chance because seriously, Steve’s obviously not okay with this, and if Steve’s not okay, then _Sam_ is not okay.

“Bucky?” Steve tries again, softer, more worried.

Bucky gets down off the couch and shifts. The room holds its breath. He walks over to Steve and cups Steve’s face in his hands. “I’m okay, Stevie,” he whispers, before he pulls Steve into a kiss, deep and slow and lingering. Steve melts into it, hands scrabbling at Bucky’s hips and pulling him close, like he needs that kiss to live.

Hell, maybe he does.

Wanda squeezes Sam’s hand, and he looks over to see her smile bright and wide. The others relax behind him too. Tension Sam didn’t realize he was still holding melts out of his shoulders, and he smiles. It’s almost better than the run.

“Well, isn’t this nice?” Tony says.

_Shit._ Sam glances at Tony, who’s on his feet now. He looks too calm for it to be anything other than calculated.

Bucky pulls back just enough to move so that he’s whispering in Steve’s ear. Then Steve sighs and tips his forehead onto Bucky’s shoulder. “Okay,” Steve says, loud enough for them all to hear. “Okay, I’m...I’m listening.”


	23. Lay Down Your Arms

Bucky wonders if he should be more concerned. His head should be buzzing with all the bad memories like it usually does when things are messy and Steve is upset, but it isn’t--in fact, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this clear, this calm, this present. Steve’s hands are on his hips, his forehead is on Bucky’s shoulders, and he’s grounding and grounded in exactly this moment: he and Steve had kissed, and they are somehow, impossibly here together in the future that Bucky had once promised them.

“So you’re ready to listen to me, Capsicle?” Tony taunts.

Steve’s fingers tighten, and Bucky inhales sharply and tilts his head down to ghost his lips over Steve’s hair. “I got ya, Stevie,” Bucky whispers.

“I know,” Steve replies, barely a murmur.

“M’not goin’ anywhere either.”

Steve turns his head, burrowing his face into Bucky’s neck to muffle his snort. When he speaks again, his lips move over Bucky’s skin, and it’s almost hard for him to concentrate when the feel of it is so sweet. “Sometimes you sound so much like you did back then,” he sighs.

“Is that bad?”Bucky asks, even though he knows the answer. He knows it bothers Steve sometimes when his accent goes all Brooklyn cartoony because it reminds him of that guy that maybe doesn’t exist anymore, or does exist but as some awful, fucked-up nightmarish version of that guy. But he’s not worried either, still. He’s not concerned; he honestly feels...he feels _light_.

“No,” Steve says simply, and Bucky believes him.

“Then quit complainin’, punk,” Bucky teases.

“Jerk,” Steve replies, fingers tightening again, but less like a reflex and more like he just wants Bucky to feel it.

“They always like this?”

“No,” Sam answers Tony’s question, quiet and considering.

“They were once,” says Wanda.

At that, Steve straightens up, first to look Bucky in the eyes, his own wide with concern, as if he hadn’t truly understood that they weren’t alone together, and then to turn and look at his pack where all of them are crowded in the doorway. Bucky takes a step back as Steve, perhaps without even realizing it, moves towards them. He halts after just a few steps, and his hand drops to his side. He sighs, suddenly looks so weary, and turns back to face Tony. “Come on, Tony, let’s…”

“Kitchen’s probably neutral enough,” Tony says brightly, when it seems like Steve doesn’t intend to finish his offer. “With the added bonus of it being where I assume you keep the liquor.”

“Sam,” Steve says in reply to that, with a jerk of his head toward the kitchen, “with us.”

“Not Barnesicle?”

The terrible nickname startles a laugh out of Bucky, which helps to distract from the way Steve gets his dander up again. “Because I was frozen too!” Bucky wheezes out, sagging a little against Steve’s side until Steve wraps an arm around his waist again to hold him up.

“Don’t encourage Tony, Barnes,” admonishes Sam.

Tony claps his hands near his mouth and grins. “Too fuckin’ late, Samster!” he says, throwing up finger-guns. “Bucky Bear and I are halfway to square at this point.”

It sounds a little too bright to be totally true, but Bucky can admit that he and Tony have at least come to one of many much-needed understandings. There’s work to be done to build their relationship into whatever it’s going to be, but the ice is broken, and they both know it.

“Kitchen,” Steve then says, seriously, though he makes no move to go first.

Tony quirks his eyebrows up and down and smirks, but also doesn’t move.

Bucky fights the sudden wild urge to roll his eyes, and when he turns a little, he meets Sam’s gaze. Sam does roll his eyes, and Bucky shrugs, a shared moment of _Alphas, am I right?_

“Come on you two,” Sam then says and starts off to the kitchen. “Don’t make me drag you by the ears.”

Once the three of them have disappeared into the kitchen, Bucky turns to the rest of his pack. He smiles and asks, “How was your run?”

Wanda smiles brightly back at him before she closes the distance between them and wraps him up in a hug that he gratefully returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a Green Day lyric.
> 
> Also, this is officially no longer a "25 Days of Xmas" fic, but rather a "This is just going to keep going until they bond" fic, so...yay? :D


	24. We Owe Each Other A Million Apologies

He’s still pretty angry with Tony, and he can tell that Tony isn’t exactly pleased with him either, but for some reason all Steve wants to do now that they’re alone (or, well, alone with Sam) is pull Tony in for a hug and never let him go. It’s entirely possible that some of the reason is because Tony smells like Bucky--and he has about a thousand questions he wants to ask about that, though he’s quite certain that he can ask them with his fists; but Sam’s giving him that look again, the warning one, and so Steve just takes a breath, ignores the pang as he inhales the scent of Bucky mixed with Tony, and places his hands flat on the table in front of him, as a show of non-aggression.

The thing is, though, Steve has missed Tony. He’s missed Tony more than he ever imagined he could. As much as they had butted heads often, Tony had been his friend. No, it was more than that--Tony had been his brother. Tony had been the Alpha brother that Steve had never had, and together, they had created a pack of some of the most wonderful, screwed-up, loveable misfits Steve has ever known. They led their pack together, and Steve has missed that sense of shared responsibility...shared love.

Because their pack might never have been all that conventional, but it was theirs, and Steve loved it. He loved that he had a family. He loved that he had people in his life who cared about the man beneath the star-spangled costume in the way that Peggy and Bucky had back in 1943. He loved that he could lead them, but also take care of them, and he loved that Tony was right there at his side, leading and taking care of them too.

Maybe the real reason he wants that hug is because in spite of everything, in spite of the pain they’ve caused each other, that Tony is here means that there’s a chance their pack can become whole again. There’s a chance that they can mend the rift, and while they probably can’t go back to how they were before, they can at least be together again the way that they belong.

Maybe Steve’s not all that mad anymore, actually.

He looks across the table at Tony, and despite himself, his gaze softens. “So you found us,” he says quietly.

Tony slides his glass across the short distance between his hands and back again twice, the scraping sound grating against Steve’s sensitive hearing, before he answers. “Wasn’t hard,” he says, looking slyly back at Steve.

Steve knows that Tony’s clever but insecure, and it might have annoyed him before when Tony felt the need to show off that he’s a genius, but not today, not now. “How?” he asks.

“You really want to--” Tony cuts himself off, juts his chin out and looks away, suspicious no doubt. “Doesn’t matter. Just did,” he then continues, before picking up his scotch and quickly gulping it down.

Steve flicks a glance to Sam, who looks like he’s going to say something, and then says, “I’m glad you did.”

“Are you?” Tony challenges.

“Yeah, Tony, I am,” Steve replies, and he only mostly succeeds at keeping the annoyance out of his tone. “I’m really glad you did. I...I miss-- it’s not the same now...without…”

A long uncomfortable moment passes before Tony murmurs, “Bed’s too empty.”

Steve’s lips twitch as he fights a threatening grin. “Yeah, I get that…”

Tony’s brow furrows. “Nah, actually Cap, I don’t really think you do. ‘Cause you took all the damn cuddly ones with you when you left,” he explains, a warning edge coming to his tone. “You smell like all of them, and I just smell like--”

“--Bucky,” Steve bites out. His hands involuntarily curl up into fists, despite himself. 

“Easy, Steve,” says Sam, taking a step forward from where he’s leaned against the counter.

“Yeah, relax, Capsicle, you’re too old to get all riled up over the likes of me,” Tony adds.

He’s sure Tony didn’t mean to let it show, but Steve hears the vulnerability in the statement regardless, and he sighs and glances down at the table, making a show, again, of flattening his hands. “Sorry, I know it’s...it’s not really any of my business,” he apologizes.

“No, it...it is,” Tony replies quietly. “Look, Cap, I-- I am really not good at this, so can we just, I don’t know, skip the shittier parts and just...um, fucking Christ, can you just--”

“--he wants us to come home,” Sam says, as he strides further forward, coming to Steve’s side.

Something tight coiled in Steve’s chest loosens. He looks up at Sam, and he’s sure his face is as open and eager as a puppy’s might be at the promise of a trip to the park. Then he looks at Tony, whose expression has closed off. Tony’s hands grip his glass again, white-knuckled. The tension and the pain is obvious, and he’s radiating distress. Clearly, Tony’s not actually ready for that just yet.

Steve swallows his disappointment and says, “No. Not yet.” Sam and Tony both start to say something, but Steve holds up a hand. “But maybe,” he continues, “you could stick around here for a while?”

Tony’s relief is so palpable that Steve can almost feel it like a weight off his own shoulders. He smirks then, says, “Wouldn’t want to put you out,” like there’s nothing else in the world he’d rather do than “slightly inconvenience” Steve.

“I’m sure we can find room,” Sam murmurs. He puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder and squeezes.

“Definitely,” Steve says. “Plenty of space.”


	25. What Makes Us Human

Bucky’s soaking in the bathtub, and the water smells like the ocean. (He can’t remember ever being near the ocean, either good or bad, which is why he thinks the scent calms him so much.) His head lolls back against a pillow, and his flesh hand slowly and methodically strokes his cock. He’s not really hard, but it feels good anyway--a kind of muscle memory that doesn’t frighten him.

His body knows a lot of things: deadly things, like how to wield knives, how to disable attackers, how to shoot and kill; or instinctive things, like how to shift, how to run, how to take care of his Alpha, how to...how to really be part of a pack again.

He’s been thinking about that a lot the last few days--what it means to be part of a pack, and part of Steve’s pack in particular. Because Steve’s pack is unlike anything he’s ever been part of before. Bucky’s had to adapt to different things all his incredibly long life, but the more he settles back into himself, the more he realizes that Steve’s pack is unique and special and unlike anything else in the world, and the more he finds that he belongs.

“Probably because we’re all forty kinds of fucked up in our own ways individually and fifty kinds when you put us all together,” Tony had said one day while the rest of them had still been gone on their run, as he ran his fingers soothingly through Bucky’s fur. “And if anybody has cause to be fucked up, it’s you.”

Bucky thinks that he might actually like Tony Stark a hell of a lot. Because Tony is like Howard in many ways, but he’s also _nothing_ like Howard in many of the more important ways. More than anything though, Bucky can tell that underneath the anger and the hurt, Tony’s a really good guy. Tony’s the kind of guy that Bucky can see himself really enjoying trying to take care of. (Not in the same way that Steve needs taking care of, of course, but in his own way.) It could be really nice having Tony around for a while.

He’s been thinking about a lot of things, but right now, he remembers that he’s supposed to be thinking about nothing at all.

Bucky sighs gently and closes his eyes, firming his grip just a bit as he feels his cock begin to respond. The bathroom door creaks. A smile pulls at Bucky’s lips, and he calls out, “Might as well come in. Nothin’ you ain’t seen before.”

The door opens slowly, and Steve steps in and closes it firmly behind himself.

“Should probably lock it too,” Bucky suggests, still not opening his eyes, as he fists himself.

“I’m not gonna--ah, shit, Buck.”

Bucky can’t help the easy laugh that escapes when he hears the click of the latch. He opens his eyes to see Steve looming just above him, staring down at Bucky’s moving hand. “See somethin’ you like, Stevie?” he asks, feeling playful and flirtatious.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, involuntary or just honest--Bucky isn’t sure which. “But, uh, I thought...Sam said you were, um-- _fuckin’ hell, Buck_ \--” he hides his eyes behind his hand, as Bucky laughs huskily “--are you having a bad day?”

Bucky twists his wrist as he strokes and rubs his thumb over the head of his cock. He lets out an unnecessarily showy moan before he answers, “Was--m’feeling pretty great now.”

“I guess they don’t call it ‘self care’ for nothing,” Steve says, peeking between the slats of his fingers.

Bucky groans, “Fuck, that was pretty terrible.”

Steve gracefully drops to his knees then and rests his hands on the lip of the tub. “Yeah, it was...but I meant it, you know. Are you sure you’re feeling better?”

“Much,” Bucky assures him, before he reaches out with his unoccupied metal hand and wraps it around the back of Steve’s neck. “So will ya kiss me?”

Steve’s answer is the soft press of his lips against Bucky’s own, gentle and mild until it isn’t--until Steve’s tongue has traced the seam of Bucky’s lips, has sweetly swirled with Bucky’s own, has licked the taste from Bucky’s mouth; until he has to pull back just enough to catch his breath; until he’s panted out, “I might even give ya a hand.”

Bucky laughs. “You’re the worst!” he cries out, tipping his head forward to rest against Steve’s forehead. He touches a kiss to the bridge of Steve’s nose. “I missed you,” he adds, barely a breath.

“God, I missed you, Buck,” Steve replies. “More than you’ll ever know.”


	26. Missing Pieces

Clint really misses Natasha. Tony’s back (for now) and that’s all fine and good (actually it’s pretty awesome, but, you know, it’s not like Clint’s going to go throw a parade about it or anything) but he’d really been hoping that Tony’s surprise arrival was going to be immediately followed by Nat’s. But it’s been over a week at this point, and while Tony shows no sign of going anywhere, neither are there any signs that Nat’s on her way. And that is a regulation bummer.

The cell phone is sitting on the kitchen table and, well, calling the number that Tony usually calls from is probably only going to call Tony, but there’s maybe a chance that it’s some number at Avengers Tower, and it’s possible then that Natasha will answer right? Like what’s the harm, specifically, if he tries it?

(Well, Clint knows exactly what the harm is actually, but still…)

His hands are around it before he can stop himself, but a soft growl from behind makes him turn.

“I just wanted to—”

Wanda’s growl cuts him off again. Her hackles are up and her ears are flattened against her head.

Clint sighs aggressively and puts down the phone before backing away with his hands up in surrender. “I just miss her, Wanda,” he breathes. “I just miss her.”

She whines and pads into the kitchen, noses at Clint’s hands until he sits down in a chair, and then hops up to rest her forepaws on his lap. Clint cups her face, scratches behind her ears until her eyes close and the tension in his own shoulders dissipates.

“I could maybe, uh, try’n work something out for you, bud,” comes Tony’s voice from the doorway.

Clint looks up again, and he tries really hard not to get his hopes up. Because the thing about alphas is that they always want to do what they can for their pack, even when it’s not exactly the best possible scenario for all parties involved. And maybe it’s cynical of Clint, but with the way everything went down not even all that long ago, he wouldn’t put it past Tony to get Nat on the phone or something for him if only to get Clint back on his side.

(But see the thing is? Clint was never really on one side or the other. It just kind of happened that he’d been on Team Cap. If he could go back and do it again, he doesn’t know that he wouldn’t just as easily have been on Team Iron Man. It wasn’t ideological. It was practical. And stupid, damn, it was so friggin’ stupid.)

“How?” Clint asks, warily, ignoring Wanda’s soft warning whine this time.

“ _War, children_ ,” Tony sings, “ _it’s just a shout away_.” Then he laughs, rakes his hand through his hair, and continues, “All right, maybe a bad choice of lyrics, but, ah, you know, point stands. I could, uh, I could give her a call. Let her know maybe, uh, maybe she’d be welcome to drop in for a visit.”

“And would Cap be cool with that?”

“Would Cap be cool with what?”

Tony startles, but quickly schools himself into his usual glib self. “Gonna have to put a bell on you, Barnes,” he jokes, as Bucky slips through the small gap between Tony and the doorframe to enter the kitchen.

“Surprised you couldn’t smell me,” Bucky answers off-handedly and takes a seat at the kitchen table.

Which, cool, obviously the guy’s having a really good day. Clint’s here for that. He likes it when everybody’s sort of on the same, not shitty page.

Tony shrugs. “That’ll probably come in time--” He cuts off abruptly, as if he’s just realizing the implication of both what Bucky said and what he’d easily agreed to.

“I hope so,” Bucky says. His lips curve up just a little. “I mean, it’d be nice, don’t you think?”

Clint holds his breath; he feels Wanda tense under his hands.

Tony opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and then frowns a little, like he’s really considering it. Then he sighs and says, “Yeah, Buckeroo, it’d be nice,” before he immediately turns around and heads off probably to brood a little bit.

Bucky turns to Clint and says, “It’d be nice if we could all...you know...soon. Soon, I think.”

“Yeah man,” Clint agrees, because it really would be nice if they could all… “I really do hope it’s soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains a lyric from Gimme Shelter by the Rolling Stones.


End file.
